I stand in the corner, counting the drinks as they're downed,
I look to my water for an answer, an answer that will never come.
Why must those around me lose themselves in the bottom of a bottle?
Some drink from cups, Booze is Booze, I am nothing but a fly-on-the-wall to them,
I look at another who has found themselves at the bottom of a beer bong,
I realize I am intruding on a ritual as old as man, it angers me.
I approach the group and grab the bottle about to be poured down the funnel,
I break it on the floor and walk away without a backwards glance.
    I Hate Alcohol.
And then the scene changes, my brother stands in front of me,
At first I believe my nightmare has ended, until I see his smile.
It is the smile of a man, and that is the worst part of it,
For all men are the same, they all share the same ugly look.
Most cant see it, but I can. It haunts the soul and blocks their eyes from mine.
The look is the same as the look of someone begging me to help them.
I reach out to help my brother, I see him begin to approach a girl.
No, I was too late, I am always to late, he is already buying her a drink.
    I Hate Alcohol
A tear begins to fill my eye, it burns but I force it away.
As I approach my brother my hearts grows heavier and heavier,
I am winded by time I get to him, something is pulling me away from him.
I ignore the instinct, it is nothing but a minor hurdle to my experienced self.
I reach out and touch his shoulder, he barely even flinches.
I whisper a warning in his ear, he ignores me, I speak it louder,
By this point the ugly blonde has noticed me, I push my brother over.
His drunk mind falls without resistance, I take the drinks and smash them.
    I Hate Alcohol
The vision fades, now I am certain this nightmare is over, I wake to an empty bed.
The price I pay for staying sober, I get out of bed feeling disgusted.
I take a cold shower hoping it will numb the anger in my frustrated mind.
It doesn’t. I dress with a fiery fury burning in every fiber of my being,
The fury doesn't burn itself out. I drive to work, I see a drunk man begging.
I have to resist the urge to spit at him. At work I see my hung-over coworker,
I don’t even say hello. On my way home I stop at my mothers home.
My mother is passed out on the couch, she is clutching something in her arms.
I bend over to see what she is using as a teddy bear, it is a empty bottle of Vodka.
    I Hate Alcohol
The anger that has been smoldering all day is released,
I grab the bottle from her arms and hurtle it at the wall, the violence feels good.
I run to the kitchen and start hurtling full bottles of booze at the walls.
Emotions flood through me, the foremost of those emotions is Understanding.
I am holding the last bottle in my hand, I decide to take it with me.
On my way out the door I realize my mom woke up during my massacre.
She woke up to vomit on the floor next to her and fell back to sleep.
A damaged, twisted, uncontrollable smile crosses my face. I now understand.
    I Hate Alcohol
As I return to my dented vehicle, I unscrew the cap of my bottle.
I take a mighty gulp, it burns in the best way imaginable.
I now understood why people lose themselves at the bottom of their bottles,
It is easier to lose yourself then it is to fight, the thought is interesting to me.
As I drive I finish the bottle and stop at the liquor store, to empty my wallet
As I entered my house I noticed the effects of alcohol were dulling my senses,
But I relished in the sensation, my house looked different tonight.
I saw potential to have fun and finally be released from my prison of pain.
I knew that I was becoming a man that I hated. But I didn’t care, life was over.
So why not have some fun before I hit the true end?
    I Hate Alcohol